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  Cali, I’m in Boston. Meet me at 112 Beech Street @ 1:00 p.m.

  I want to see you.

  Love, Dad.

  I shake my head, baffled by this message. Dad always calls me Carolina, and he doesn’t use twelve-hour time. This is definitely not Dad.

  My feet drop off the bed and slide into each boot. I lace them up and pull a new shirt out of my bag. I pull it over my head and open the door. Tango is leaning on the wall opposite of my door, one foot on the wall, and one hand holding out a coffee.

  “For me?” I ask, my voice croaking.

  “I locked you in and ran down the street. And you were none the wiser.” He presses his tongue out between his lips, but doesn’t smile. He’s cute. Ugh. Take it back, Cali. I take the hot cup and toss my phone at his now empty hand. “What’s this?” He drops his foot from the wall and handles the phone with both hands.

  I take a sip of the coffee and close my eyes, momentarily enjoying the beautiful toasty warmth running down the back of my throat. “Thank you, for this.” I lift the cup and tap the air.

  “Carolina, what is this?” Oh, we’re back to formal names. Nicknames must belong under a drunk category. “This isn’t your dad. I tried to tell you last night.”

  I shake my head and pull my phone from his hand. “My dad calls me Carolina. And the last time he used twelve-hour time was when I was probably twelve. So, yeah. You were right.”

  “I have an idea,” he says, heading toward his bedroom.

  “What?” I chase him down the hall. “What are we doing?” I’m hoping we’re going to this location. We’re going to hunt Reaper down and I’m going to fucking shoot him point blank.

  “Go grab your stuff just in case . . .”

  He doesn’t have to finish his sentence. I get it. I run back to my bedroom and place my coffee cup down on the dresser before changing into clean clothes. I open my bags and scoop up the few hanging shirts I threw into the closet and dump them in my bag. Then I rip the sheets off the bed, roll them into a pile and shove them inside too. Lastly, I unplug my laptop and smother it between the compacted sheets. Zipped and ready to go. I throw my bags over my shoulder and snatch my coffee back from the dresser.

  “Ready,” I sing in an anxious voice as I walk toward the front door where he’s waiting.

  He whips the door open and sticks his head out, looking in each direction before moving forward. “Stay behind me, just in case.”

  Unfamiliar with this area, I don’t try to follow the signs on the roads. The only thing my mind is set on is figuring out what we’re going to do when we arrive at this location in Boston. We turn onto another highway, and I happen to notice one of the signs we’re passing by. It says: Cape Cod, 20 miles. I’ve heard of the Cape. It’s at the tip of Massachusetts, definitely not near Boston.

  “Where the hell are we going?” I ask.

  “Away.”

  “Okay. That’s it. I want some additional proof that you’re really a bodyguard. I have no idea who the hell you really are, or what your intentions are. I don’t trust you, and I don’t trust a word you say. You could be kidnapping me for all I know.” I kick my feet up on the dashboard and lower my seat back. I pull my glasses over my eyes and fold my arms. There has to be something I can do to change his mind. Maybe if I forfeit my body to him, he’ll actually start answering my questions. Sex is usually a good answer to problems and it wouldn’t be the worst last resort.

  “I can say, I’m sorry. But I doubt it’ll matter to you.”

  “No, it won’t matter. You won’t even answer simple questions.”

  “Fine. I’ll answer a simple question. Go ahead, ask,” he says with a snippy attitude.

  “Do you have a family?” Out of every question I could have asked, this one popped out of my mouth first. I feel like slapping myself for not thinking this through a little more.

  “I had two parents and a sister, yes.” His hands tighten around the steering wheel and his jaw grinds subtly back and forth. Then again, maybe we’re getting somewhere. I’m starting to see a slight possibility that he isn’t as different from me as I thought.

  “Did they all die?” I can’t imagine anyone’s luck being so poor that they could lose their entire family on three different occasions. It must have been some kind of accident.

  He pulls in a sharp breath and chews on the inside of his cheek. “Can we just not go there? I answered your one simple question. Please.”

  I nod, wanting to say I understand. But now I just want to hear what happened and to tell him he’s not alone. Although, he knows he’s not alone. He knows I’ve been through the same type of pain. And I know what it’s like to shut down and keep to myself. For that, I can respect his feelings.

  “I think I’ve made my intentions of keeping you safe, clear. You could be kidnapped by worse, you know?” he says.

  I pull my glasses down onto the bridge of my nose and twist my head to look at his smiling profile. I smile in return, again.

  “Hey now, two smiles. What did I do to become so damn lucky?” He turns on the radio and starts tapping his hands on the steering wheel to the beat of the country music. “I’m going to make you trust me. And believe me.” His words come out with a bit of vigor, making him sound a little more conceited than I had originally thought him to be.

  “And keep me alive?” I drawl. “How lucky am I, cowboy?” I playfully fan myself with my hand.

  “I like this side of you, Carolina.”

  I see a hint of pink appear on his cheeks, so I lean my face in toward his. “Are you—“ I laugh. “Are you blushing?”

  He releases an exaggerated sigh. “No, I must have a fever.”

  I roll my eyes and fall back against the seat. I push my glasses back up to my eyes and inhale a long and full breath. Breathing does come easier when I’m around him.

  TANGO

  I should be looking at the road. Look at the damn road. I have no plan. I have no direction. All I know is, I haven’t been to Cape Cod, and that’s where we’re heading. I have to keep her away from Boston. I have to let this shit play out. I don’t trust her not to run off, and I guess I don’t trust myself enough to contain her.

  She looks so innocent and so pleasant when she’s asleep, but when she’s awake, she’s a ball of fire. Although, I do think the meanness has to be a mask, or just a case of self-defense. Whatever the reason is, I like what I see under the mask.

  I glance over at her again now, because I can, because she doesn’t know I’m looking at her. I kind of like the way a burgundy hue teases a few strands of her midnight black hair in the sun, and the ends curl slightly over the top of her breasts, almost like they were placed perfectly on both sides. But it wasn’t done purposely; she’s just perfect like that. Her skin is so fair and so complimentary to every color she encompasses. And her lips. Those fucking lips are partly open, just enough to accentuate the plumpness of her top lip. She really is sexy—sexier than I had realized. But she is my assignment and I need to keep reminding myself of this. Still, it’s been four long years since a woman has touched me, and I’m desperately craving that soft, delicate embrace. It would fill a much needed desire. And not just from anyone. I’m starting to think that someone has to be her.

  The warning bumps on the shoulder of the road have pulled my eyes back to the highway. Must keep my eyes focused on the road, not her. I have to keep my focus, period.

  CALI

  I must have dozed off for a bit, the bumps on the road have woken me up and I glance out the window. We’re driving over rocks toward a beach. “Why are we at a beach? This probably isn’t a great hiding spot.”

  “We aren’t hiding. We’re staying away from Boston. While you were getting your bags, I called one of the other mercenaries from the company I work with. I have a feeling Reaper isn’t alone. There could be a group of them. And there are only two of us. Let my guys go check it out and tell us who’s there before we react.”

  “I thought you were a bodyguard, not a
mercenary?”

  “Your dad hired me from the company I work for. The company subs out mercenaries. Your dad read my file, liked my history, and thought I could keep you safe. End of story.”

  “Hmm. And what exactly is your plan to keep me safe, Tango? Are you just going to be my travel companion as I continue running away from the man I want to kill?” I think I have a right to at least know that.

  He opens his door and jumps out of the truck. He stretches each arm out behind his neck and bends over to stretch his hamstrings, giving me the perfect view of his amazingly firm ass. Ugh. He reaches back into the truck behind the driver’s seat and pulls out two extra large sweatshirts, both covered with the Marine emblem. He slips one on and leaves the hood over his head. I open my door and hop down to where he’s standing and holding out the other sweatshirt for me. It doesn’t take long to figure out why he’s handing it to me—it’s about twenty degrees colder here. I take my jacket off and slip the sweatshirt over my head before putting my jacket back on. Crap, it’s freaking cold.

  He still hasn’t answered my question, and now I’m following him like a lost dog, waiting for a response. He climbs up a couple of rocks overlooking the ocean, sits on the tip of one and pulls his knees into his chest. He taps the rock beside him and waves me over. “Come sit.”

  I climb up the rocks to where he’s sitting and drop down into the flattened area beside him. “Ready to answer me now? Or are we waiting for the sun to set?” Annoyance definitely saturates my words clearly enough for him to take a hint.

  “Yeah, we could do that.” He lets his head fall back into the glow of the sun. His features become more dominant—the light colored freckles on his cheeks and the scar above his right eyebrow. “I’m struggling with the plan I was given orders for,” he says, straightening his neck as he peers out into the water. “Your dad wants me to keep you safe. You want to kill the man who is after you. And on top of that . . . this job—” He points back and forth between the two of us. “Will probably expire in a month. So, it’s a lot to consider.“

  “What do you mean? Are you planning to quit?” I ask, somewhat baffled and a little upset that this arrangement is temporary.

  “I’m not planning to quit, no,” he says, refusing to break his cold hard stare out into the water.

  “Then what?” I twist my body to face him; feeling emotionally charged from his half spoken statements.

  After a few seconds, he looks over at me but doesn’t respond. His hands curl around the back of his neck, squeezing and causing his skin to discolor. I hear him swallow and I watch his lips part. I can see the debate in his eyes, fighting over the words he must want to say. “I’m probably not going to make it another month.” He bites down on his cheek and his eyes lose their focus.

  “I don’t—I don’t understand what you’re saying or what you mean.” This pit in my stomach is telling me whatever he is trying to say, isn’t good.

  “I have lung cancer. I was diagnosed about four weeks ago. It’s too late to do anything about it. The doctors gave me no hope—just a countdown. They said I had two to three months left, but probably more likely around two.” His words leave him breathless, and me as well.

  I’ve been a complete bitch, asshole, cunt, and a shithead to this poor man who’s going to die in probably less than a month. But beyond that, I feel a different kind of pain—a swelling type of ache in my heart. I’ve warmed up to him. I’ve started to like him, even enjoy having him around. I’ve had thoughts of actually being with him, which is dumb anyway. He’s my bodyguard. But he’s my friend now too. And even if he doesn’t see it that way, I do care about him. But he’s dying. Someone else I care about will be taken away from me. Is that what this is? Another fucking sick joke from above?

  “I should have guessed something was wrong by the way you’ve been coughing and wheezing,” is all I can come up with to say.

  “Look. I wasn’t going to say anything. The doctor said it will be painful, but I’ll be able to continue living until my lungs stop working. Right now, it’s bearable, but when it gets to be too much, I’ll stop working and find you a replacement. A good one. Or I can save you the trouble, and find you a replacement now so I don’t have to put you through the aggravation?”

  The words coming from his mouth hurt me. I purposely don’t get close to people for a reason and it’s to protect my bitterly trashed heart. I know whatever time we spend together from here on out will likely result in a stronger friendship, maybe more. But I can’t let that happen. I’ll be the one who has to live on after. I’ll be the one left with memories branded into my mind and heart. But, on the other hand, what type of person would I be if I told him to leave now, to go die by himself? He has no family, and he hasn’t mentioned any friends. Now I’m thinking of Krissy and Mom, if they were in his shoes, and if they had no one when they were dying. I wouldn’t wish that on them, or anyone. “I already told you. I don’t want a replacement,” I say quietly.

  “I know. Want to know the irony?” How is there irony in this situation?

  I shrug.

  “The thing your dad has could save my ass. And that’s as much as I can tell you.”

  “Wait, what?” I shout. “What does he have, Tango? A treatment for cancer? Is that what he has?” He doesn’t respond. But he doesn’t need to. I can see the look on his face—it’s a combination of hope and dread. I’m assuming the hope part is that there’s something out there that could save him. The dread most likely being that he wouldn’t agree to track Dad down. “How do you know that’s what he has?”

  He looks at me with a sidelong glare and I can see contemplation form like storms in his eyes. “I refused to take the job unless I knew what I was fighting for. This job had a high alert, meaning, the likelihood of survival is low. My survival rate is low anyway, so I figured it’s the perfect job. I kind of just lucked out, being stuck with you.” His lip twitches a bit as a wry smile plays across his cheeks. “I’m guessing your dad hasn’t had an easy time finding guards for you,” he snickers. “Without sounding too cocky, my history dictates that I’d be a pretty badass guard, and regardless of what you might think, he does want to keep you safe. He told me what he had in his possession, so I’d take the job. But I’m smart enough to know, he’ll have me killed if anyone ever found out. However, I trust you wouldn’t rat me out.”

  Without thinking, I blurt out something I’ll likely regret—or maybe not. “I’ll help you find him.”

  “No. Absolutely not. I can’t have you do that. And we still have to deal with Reaper.”

  “Fuck Reaper. I’ll deal with him later. I want to help you.” I do. I don’t want to watch another innocent person die. I can’t.

  “Cali, we could be killed just trying to find him. And what if I die in the process? Where does that leave you? Unprotected and in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Where is he, Tango? Tell me.”

  “A few hours south of the Texas border. When he hired me, he gave me emergency coordinates for his location. They aren’t exact, but they’re within a two mile radius of where he is. It isn’t going to be easy to find him.”

  “We’re going. My dad is paying you to take care of me, right?”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t involve bringing you to his location.”

  “I don’t care. We’re going . . . and if you don’t take me to Mexico, I’m going into Boston and I’ll hunt Reaper down until I’m face to face with him. I will put myself in as much danger as possible here if you don’t take me to find my dad.”

  “Cali.”

  “Choice is yours. Live or die.” I wonder how many buttons of his I’ll have to push before he gives in. I know this is dangerous and stupid, but a good deed wouldn’t be the worst thing for my current track record.

  He looks torn as he subtly nods his head with agreement. “You play dirty. And that’s not fair.” He squints his eyes with a mischievous glint and playfully pinches my side. The sensation causes me to yelp and burst with laug
hter, which makes me ask myself what this man is doing to me.

  “I think we both know life isn’t exactly fair,” I say.

  I see the stormy clouds return to his eyes, as well as contemplation. “You do know Reaper will tail us and follow us. Right?”

  “And that will make it easier for me to kill him,” I smile. I’m obviously making this sound easier than it is, but this is the way it has to be. I’m sure of it.

  “Why are you doing this for me?” he asks.

  I look at his pain stricken expression and I take his hand from his lap, allowing myself to feel the warmth flowing through him and now through me. His hand is large and rough, but still gentle and comforting. It causes my heart to pound and my breath to hitch in my throat, holding me back from saying what I want to say. I wait for the rush to pass and squeeze his hand to release some of my own nerves. He’s staring at me, waiting to hear or know why I took his hand, because right now it looks like a sign of emotion, and that’s not something I’m ready to divulge. The thought brings my words to the tip of my tongue. “Don’t let this seep into your head or anything, but—“ I stall just so I can hold his hand a little bit longer. “I think you’re a pretty cool guy, Tango,” I wink. “Plus, I don’t really think you deserve to die . . . especially after the shit I’ve given you this week. The guilt. It’s setting in.”

  He slips his hand out of my mine and my heart rate slows a bit from the external release. But then he slides his arm around my back and pulls me in against his shoulder, forcing another rush of sensations to overwhelm me. “You don’t know how much this means to me. This will be the most selfish thing I’ve ever done.” He presses his lips onto the top of my head. “Thank you.” And I’m stunned, speechless and breathless. Did his lips just touch the top of my head? How did we even end up at this moment? I’ve been horrible to him. How could he even want to put his arm around me, never mind his lips on me? I don’t understand.

  CHAPTER TEN

  TANGO

  THE TRUTH IS OUT, and it feels good. She’s the first person outside of the Marines who knows. I’m told to keep my mouth shut. I’m trained not to weaken and say something I shouldn’t. But at this point, I don’t give a shit anymore.